WILLIAM TEACHES PLAYBOI CARTI TO MAKE GOOD SONGS
William: Okay guys so I'm going to be teaching Playboi Carti to make good songs. Carti: How? William: Make good lyrics! Carti: My lyrics are good. William: No they're not! Listen to The Ringer by Eminem! Let me explain just how to make greatness Straight out the gate, I'm ’bout to break you down Ain't no mistakes allowed, but make no mistake, I'm 'bout To rape the alphabet, I may raise some brows If I press the issue just to get the anger out (brrr) Full magazine could take Staples out Savage but ain't thinkin' 'bout no bank account But bitch, I'm off the chain like Kala Brown Motherfucker, shut the fuck up when I’m talkin’, lil' bitch I’m sorry, wait, what's your talent? Oh, critiquin' My talent? Oh, bitch, I don't know who the fuck y’all are To give a sub-par bar, even have an opinion of you You mention me, millions of views, attention in news I mention you, lose-lose for me, win-win for you Billions of views, your ten cents are two Skim through the music to give shit reviews To get clicks, but bitch, you just lit the fuse Don't get misconstrued, business as us' Shit-list renewed, so get shit to do Or get dissed, 'cause I just don't get What the fuck half the shit is that you're listenin' to Do you have any idea how much I hate this choppy flow Everyone copies though? Probably no Get this fuckin' audio out my Audi yo, adiós I can see why people like Lil Yachty, but not me though Not even dissin', it just ain't for me All I am simply is just an MC Maybe "Stan" just isn't your cup of tea Maybe your cup's full of syrup and lean Maybe I need to stir up shit, preferably Shake the world up if it were up to me Paul wants me to chill, y'all want me to ill I should eat a pill, probably I will Old me kill the new me, watch him bleed to death I breathe on the mirror, I don't see my breath Possibly I'm dead, I must be possessed Like an evil spell, I'm E-V-I-L (evil, spelled) Jam a Crest Whitestrip in the tip of my dick With an ice pick, stick it in a vice grip Hang it on a spike fence, bang it with a pipe wrench While I take my ballsack and flick it like a light switch Like vice-president Mike Pence Back up on my shit in a sidekick as I lay it on a spike strip These are things that I'd rather do than hear you on a mic Since nine tenths of your rhyme is about ice and Jesus Christ, man, how many times is Someone gonna fuck on my bitch? (Fuck my side chick!) You won't ever see Em icy But as cold as I get on the M-I-C I polarize shit, so the Thames might freeze And your skull might split like I passed you upside it Bitch, I got the club on smash like a nightstick (yeah) Turn down for what? I ain't loud enough, nah, turn the Valium up! 'Cause I don't know how I'm gonna get your mouths to shut Now when it doesn't matter what caliber I spit at, I'll bet a hundred thousand bucks You'll turn around and just be like, "Man, how the fuck Sourpuss gonna get mad just 'cause his album sucks? And now he wants to take it out on us." (ooh) But last week, an ex-fan mailed me a copy Of The Mathers LP to tell me to study It'll help me get back to myself and she'll love me (ooh) I mailed the bitch back and said if I did that I'd just be like everyone else in the fucking industry Especially an effing Recovery clone of me (didn't I think) So finger-bang, chicken wang, MGK, Iggy 'zae Lil Pump, Lil Xan imitate Lil Wayne I should aim at everybody in the game, pick a name I'm fed up with bein' humble And rumor is I'm hungry, I'm sure you heard bumblings I heard you wanna rumble like an empty stomach I heard your mumblin', but it's jumbled in mumbo-jumbo The era that I'm from will pummel you, that's what it's comin' to What the fuck you're gonna do when you run into it? I'm gonna crumble you and I'll take a number two And dump on you, if you ain't Joyner If you ain't Kendrick or Cole or Sean then you're a goner I'm 'bout to bring it to anyone in this bitch who want it I guess when you walk into BK you expect a Whopper You can order a Quarter Pounder when you go to McDonald's But if you're lookin' to get a porterhouse you better go get Revival But y'all are actin' like I tried to serve you up a slider Maybe the vocals shoulda been auto-tuned And you woulda bought it But sayin' I no longer got it 'Cause you missed the line and never caught it 'Cause it went over your head, because you're too stupid to get it 'Cause you're mentally retarded, but pretend to be the smartest With your expertise and knowledge, but you'll never be an artist And I'm harder on myself than you could ever be regardless What I'll never be is flawless, all I'll ever be is honest Even when I'm gone, they're gonna say I brought it Even when I hit my forties like a fuckin' alcoholic With a bottle full of malt liquor But I couldn't bottle this shit any longer The fact that I know that I'ma hit my bottom If I don't pull myself from the jaws of defeat and rise to my feet I don't see why y'all even started with me I get impeached, my enemies die I don't cease fire 'til at least all are deceased I'm eastside, never be caught slippin' Now you see why I don't sleep, not even a wink, I don't blink I don't doze off, I don't even nod to the beats I don't even close my fuckin' eyes when I sneeze "Aw, man! That BET cypher was weak, it was garbage The Thing ain't even orange—oh my God, that's a reach!" Shout to all my colorblind people Each and everyone of y'all, if you call a fire engine green Aquamarine, or you think water is pink "Dawg, that's a date." "Looks like an olive to me." "Look, there's an apple!" "No, it's not, it's a peach!" So finger-bang, Pootie Tang Burger King, Gucci Gang, dookie, dang Charlamagne gonna hate anyway, doesn't matter what I say Give me Donkey of the Day What a way for 2018 to get underway But I'm gonna say everything that I wanna say Welcome to the slaughterhouse, bitch! (yeah) Invite 'em in like a One A Day; I'm not done (preach) 'Cause I feel like the beast of burden That line in the sand, was it even worth it? 'Cause the way I see people turning's Makin' it seem worthless, it's startin' to defeat the purpose I'm watchin' my fan base shrink to thirds And I was just tryin' to do the right thing, but word Has the court of public opinion reached a verdict Or still yet to be determined? 'Cause I'm determined to be me, critique the worship But if I could go back, I'd at least reword it And say I empathize with the people this evil serpent Sold the dream to that he's deserted But I think it's workin' These verses are makin' him a wee bit nervous And he's too scurred to answer me with words 'Cause he knows that he will lyrically get murdered But I know at least he's heard it 'Cause Agent Orange just sent the Secret Service To meet in person to see if I really think of hurtin' him Or ask if I'm linked to terrorists I said, "Only when it comes to ink and lyricists." But my beef is more media journalists (Hold up, hold up, hold up…) I said my beef is more meaty, a journalist Can get a mouthful of flesh And yes, I mean eating a penis 'Cause they been pannin' my album to death So I been givin' the media fingers Don't wanna turn this to a counselling sesh But they been puttin' me through the wringer So I ain't ironin' shit out with the press But I just took this beat to the cleaners Carti: Okay. I'll write my own song. Later... William: So show me your song. Carti: Okay. It's called Flatbed Freestyle. Intro Buh! Buh! Buh! Buh! Buh! Buh! Buh! Buh! Buh! Buh! Buh! Pussy man I smoke that organic Fendi down I'm smoking organic Verse F&N I'm smoking all the gas She menaging, she need some more breath I got smoke all in the air Fuck this up and you get left AP on my fucking left Stack it up right on the shelf Yo bitch look familiar I got drip all in this walk I got cash, I let it walk I'ma do this by myself On the jet by—by myself I touchdown and shoot the gas tank I touchdown and get my fingers wet My bitch giving G.O.A.T. head Riding 'round on mopeds My bitch off the percocets Pop that bean and count them deads Yeah she suck me I can't feel my legs My bih yucky, she don't use no hands Dancefloor wit the diamonds dancing Dancefloor wit the diamonds dancing That's why you can't buy them bags In LA I smoke that gas In LA in link with slatt That bitch with you, she gave you back I fuck that bitch and gave her back I nut on her, she make me 'lax That gun on me I cannot lack Your bitch right, she got it clapped Looking dap boy, young boy you get clapped I took that lil boy right off of the map We killed that boy right here, right in the trap I love my lean, I fucked around relapsed I fucked that bih, he running round in laps You touchdown in my city, you better tap That bitch right here, she know she gotta tap I seen that bitch runnin' round in Nudy cat That bitch with me and now she on that pack Im in south side, and I'm weighin' the crack I'm in south side, yeah, and I got the gat I'm in south side, and I hang with blatt I'm in south side, yeah, yeah, yeah yeah, yeah Chorus Too much lean, too much ice One more pint, one more pint Too much lean, too much ice One more pint, one more pint One more pint, one more pint One more pint, one more pint Too much lean, too much ice One more pint, one more pint William: I CAN NOT BELIEVE THIS!!! I CAN'T HANDLE THIS!!! Carti: That's a good song! William: MY ASS!!! CLASS IS OVER!!! Carti: Rude! Category:Fanfic Category:Music